Elephants Can Remember (17 page)

‘And then,’ said Poirot. ‘What did you do? It seems to me that you must in some way between you –’

‘Yes. She died, you know. She died within about ten minutes of those last words, and I helped him. I helped him to hide her body. It was a place a little further along the cliff. We carried her there and there were rocks and boulders and stones, and we covered her body as best we could. There was no path to it really, or no way. You had to scramble. We put her there. All Alistair said again and again was – “I promised her. I must keep my word. I don’t know how to do it, I don’t know howanyone can save her. I don’t know. But –” Well, we did do it. Dolly was in the house. She was frightened, desperate with fright – but at the same time she showed a horrible kind of satisfaction. She said, “I always knew, I’ve known for years that Molly was really evil. She took you away from me, Alistair. You belonged to me – but she took you away from me and made you marry her and I always knew. Now I’m frightened. What’ll they do to me – what’ll they say? I can’t be shut up again. I can’t, I can’t. I shall go mad. You won’t let me be shut up. They’ll take me away and they’ll say I’m guilty of murder. It wasn’t murder. I just had to do it. Sometimes I do have to do things. I wanted to see the blood, you know. I couldn’t wait to see Molly die, though. I ran away. But I knew she would die. I just hoped you wouldn’t find her. She just fell over the cliff. People would say it was an accident.”’

‘It’s a horrible story,’ said Desmond. ‘Yes,’ said Celia, ‘it’s a horrible story, but it’s better to know. It’s better to know, isn’t it? I can’t even feel sorry for her. I mean for my mother. I know she was sweet. I know there was never any trace of evil in her – she was good all through – and I know, I can understand, why my father didn’t want to marry Dolly. He wanted to marry my mother because he loved her and he had found out by then that there was something wrong with Dolly. Something bad and twisted. But how – how did you do it all?’

‘We told a good many lies,’ said Zélie. ‘We hoped the body would not be found so that later perhaps it might be removed in the night or something like that to somewhere where it could look as though she’d fallen down into the sea. But then we thought of the sleep-walking story. What we had to do was really quite simple. Alistair said, “It’s frightening, you know. But I promised – I swore to Molly when she was dying. I swore I’d do as she asked – there’s a way, a possible way to save Dolly, if only Dolly can do her part. I don’t know if she’s capable of it.” I said, “Do what?” And Alistair said, “Pretend she’s Molly and that it’s Dorothea who walked in her sleep and fell to her death.”

‘We managed it. Took Dolly to an empty cottage we knew of and I stayed with her there for some days. Alistair said Molly had been taken to hospital suffering from shock after the discovery that her sister had fallen over the cliff whilst walking in her sleep at night. Then we brought Dolly back – brought her back as Molly – wearing Molly’s clothes and Molly’s wig. I got extra wigs – the kind with the curls which really did disguise her. The dear old housekeeper, Janet, couldn’t see very well. Dolly and Molly were really very much alike, you know, and their voices were alike. Everyone accepted quite easily that it was Molly, behaving rather peculiarly now and then because of still suffering from shock. It all seemed quite natural. That was the horrible part of it –’

‘But how could she keep it up?’ asked Celia. ‘It must have been dreadfully difficult.’

‘No – she did not find it difficult – she had got, you see, what she wanted – what she had always wanted. She had got Alistair –’

‘But Alistair – how could he bear it?’

‘He told me why and how – on the day he had arranged for me to go back to Switzerland. He told me what I had to do and then he told me what
he
was going to do.

‘He said: “There is only one thing for me to do. I promised Margaret that I wouldn’t hand Dolly over to the police, that it should never be known that she was a murderess, that the children were never to know that they had a murderess for an aunt. No one need ever know that Dolly committed murder. She walked in her sleep and fell over the cliff – a sad accident and she will be buried here in the church, and under her own name.”

‘ “How can you let that be done?” I asked – I couldn’t bear it.

‘He said: “Because of what I am going to do – you have got to know about it.”

‘ “You see,” he said, “Dolly has to be stopped from living. If she’s near children she’ll take more lives – poor soul; she’s not fit to live. But you must understand, Zélie, that because of what I am going to do, I must pay with my own life, too – I shall live here quietly for a few weeks with Dolly playing the part of my wife – and then there will be another tragedy –”

‘I didn’t understand what he meant – I said, “Another accident? Sleep-walking again?” And he said, “No – what will be known to the world is that I and Molly have both committed suicide – I don’t suppose the reason will ever be known. They may think it’s because she was convinced she had cancer – or that I thought so – all sorts of things may be suggested. But you see – you must help me, Zélie. You are the only person who really loves me and loves Molly and loves the children. If Dolly has got to die, I am the only person who must do it. She won’t be unhappy or frightened. I shall shoot her and then myself. Her fingerprints will show on the revolver because she handled it not long ago, and mine will be there too. Justice has to be done and I have to be the executioner. The thing I want you to know is that I did – that I still do – love them both. Molly more than my life. Dolly because I pity her so much for what she was born to be.” He said, “Always remember that –”’

Zélie rose and came towards Celia. ‘Now you know the truth,’ she said. ‘I promised your father that you should never know – I have broken my word. I never meant to reveal it to you or to anyone else. Monsieur Poirot made me feel differently. But – it’s such a horrible story –’

‘I understand how you felt,’ said Celia. ‘Perhaps you were right from your point of view, but I – I am glad to know because now a great burden seems to have been lifted off me –’

‘Because now,’ said Desmond, ‘we both know. And it’s something we’ll never mind about knowing. It
was
a tragedy. As Monsieur Poirot here has said, it was a real tragedy of two people who loved each other. But they didn’t kill each other, because they loved each other. One was murdered and the other executed a murderer for the sake of humanity so that more children shouldn’t suffer. One can forgive him if he was wrong, but I don’t think it
was
wrong really.’

‘She was a frightening woman always,’ said Celia. ‘Even when I was a child I was frightened of her but I didn’t know why. But I do know why now. I think my father was a brave man to do what he did. He did what my mother asked him to do , begged him to dowith her dying breath. He saved her twin sister whom I think she’d always loved very dearly. I like to think – oh, it seems a silly thing for me to say –’ she looked doubtfully at Hercule Poirot. ‘Perhaps you won’t think so. I expect you’re a Catholic, but it’s what’s written on their tombstone. “In death they were not divided.” It doesn’t mean that they died together, but I think they
are
together. I think they came together afterwards. Two people who loved each other very much, and my poor aunt whom I’ll try to feel more kindly about than I ever did – my poor aunt didn’t have to suffer for what she couldn’t perhaps help herself doing. Mind you,’ said Celia, suddenly breaking into her ordinary everyday voice, ‘she wasn’t a nice person. You can’t help not liking people if they’re not nice people. Perhaps she
could
have been different if she tried, but perhaps she couldn’t. And if so, one has to think of her as someone who was very ill – like somebody, for instance, who had plague in a village and they wouldn’t let her go out or feed her and she couldn’t go amongst other people because the whole village would have died. Something like that. But I’ll try and be sorry for her. And my mother and father – I don’t worry about them any more. They loved each other so much, and loved poor, unhappy, hating Dolly.’

‘I think, Celia,’ said Desmond, ‘we’d better get married now as soon as possible. I can tell you one thing. My mother is never going to hear anything about this. She’s not my own mother and she’s nota person I can trust with this sort of secret.’

‘Your adopted mother, Desmond,’ said Poirot, ‘I have good reason to believe was anxious to come between you and Celia and tried to influence you in the idea that from her mother and father she might have inherited some terrible characteristic. But you know, or you may not know and I see no reason why I should not tell you, you will inherit from the woman who was your real mother and who died not very long ago leaving all her money to you – you will inherit a very large sum when you reach the age of twenty-five.’

‘If I marry Celia, of course we shall need the money to live on,’ said Desmond. ‘I quite understand. I know my present adopted mother is very keen on money and I often lend her money even now. She suggested my seeing a lawyer the other day because she said it was very dangerous now that I was over twenty-one, not leaving a Will behind me. I suppose she thought she’d get the money. I had thought of probably leaving nearly all the money to her. But of course now Celia and I are getting married I shall leave it to Celia – and I didn’t like the way my mother tried to put me against Celia.’

‘I think your suspicions are entirely correct,’ said Poirot. ‘I dare say she could tell herself that she meant it all for the best, that Celia’s origin is something that you ought to know if there is a risk for you to take, but –’

‘All right,’ said Desmond, ‘but – I know I’m being unkind. After all, she adopted me and brought me up and all the rest of it and I dare say if there’s enough money I can settle some of it on her. Celia and I will have the rest and we’re going to be happy together. After all, there are things that’ll make us feel sad from time to time but we shan’t worry any more, shall we, Celia?’

‘No,’ said Celia, ‘we’ll never worry again. I think they were rather splendid people, my mother and father. Mother tried to look after her sister all her life, but I suppose it was a bit too hopeless. You can’t stop people from being like they are.’

‘Ah, dear children,’ said Zélie. ‘Forgive me for calling you children because you are not. You are a grown man and woman. I know that. I am so pleased to have seen you again and to know I have not done any harm in what I did.’

‘You haven’t done any harm at all and it’s lovely seeing you, dear Zélie.’ Celia went to her and hugged her. ‘I’ve always been terribly fond of you,’ she said.

‘And I was very fond of you too when I knew you,’ said Desmond. ‘When I lived next door. You had lovely games you played with us.’

The two young people turned. ‘Thank you, Mrs Oliver,’ said Desmond. ‘You’ve been very kind and you’ve put in a lot of work. I can see that. Thank you, Monsieur Poirot.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Celia. ‘I’m very grateful.

’They walked away and the others looked after them.

‘Well,’ said Zélie, ‘I must leave now.’ She said to Poirot, ‘What about you? Will you have to tell anyone about this?’

‘There is one person I might tell in confidence. A retired police force officer. He is no longer actively in the Service now. He is completely retired. I think he would not feel it is his duty to interfere with what time has now wiped out. If he was still in active service it might be different.’

‘It’s a terrible story,’ said Mrs Oliver, ‘terrible. And all those people I talked to – yes, I can see now, they all remembered
something
. Something that was useful in showing us what the truth was, although it was difficult to put together. Except for Monsieur Poirot, who can always put things together out of the most extraordinary things. Like wigs and twins.’

Poirot walked across to where Zélie was standing looking out over the view.

‘You do not blame me,’ he said, ‘for coming to you, persuading you to do what you have done?’

‘No. I am glad. You have been right. They are very charming, those two, and they are well suited, I think. They will be happy. We are standing here where two lovers once lived. Where two lovers died and I don’t blame him for what he did. It may have been wrong, I suppose it was wrong, but I can’t blame him. I think it was a brave act even if it was a wrong one.’

‘You loved him too, did you not?’ said Hercule Poirot.

‘Yes. Always. As soon as I came to the house. I loved him dearly. I don’t think he knew it. There was never anything, what you call, between us. He trusted me and was fond of me. I loved them both. Both him and Margaret.’

‘There is something I would like to ask you. He loved Dolly as well as Molly, didn’t he?’

‘Right up to the end. He loved them both. And that’s why he was willing to save Dolly. Why Molly wanted him to. Which did he love the best of those sisters? I wonder. That is a thing I shall perhaps never know,’ said Zélie. ‘I never did – perhaps I never shall.’

Poirot looked at her for a moment, then turned away. He rejoined Mrs Oliver.

‘We will drive back to London. We must return to everyday life, forget tragedies and love-affairs.’

‘Elephants can remember,’ said Mrs Oliver, ‘but we are human beings and mercifully human beings can forget.’

The Mysterious Affair at Styles; The Murder on the Links; Poirot Investigates; The Murder of Roger Ackroyd; The Big Four; The Mystery of the Blue Train; Black Coffee; Peril at End House; Lord Edgware Dies; Murder on the Orient Express; Three-Act Tragedy; Death in the Clouds; The ABC Murders; Murder in Mesopotamia; Cards on the Table; Murder in the Mews; Dumb Witness; Death on the Nile; Appointment with Death; Hercule Poirot’s Christmas; Sad Cypress; One, Two, Buckle My Shoe; Evil Under the Sun; Five Little Pigs; The Hollow; The Labours of Hercules; Taken at the Flood; Mrs McGinty’s Dead; After the Funeral; Hickory Dickory Dock; Dead Man’s Folly; Cat Among the Pigeons; The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding; The Clocks; Third Girl; Hallowe’en Party; Elephants Can Remember; Poirot’s Early Cases; Curtain: Poirot’s Last Case

1.
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
(1920)

Captain Arthur Hastings, invalided in the Great War, is recuperating as a guest of John Cavendish at Styles Court, the ‘country-place’ of John’s autocratic old aunt, Emily Inglethorpe — she of a sizeable fortune, and so recently remarried to a man twenty years her junior. When Emily’s sudden heart attack is found to be attributable to strychnine, Hastings recruits an old friend, now retired, to aid in the local investigation. With impeccable timing, Hercule Poirot, the renowned Belgian detective, makes his dramatic entrance into the pages of crime literature.

Of note: Written in 1916,
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
was Agatha Christie’s first published work. Six houses rejected the novel before it was finally published — after puzzling over it for eighteen months before deciding to go ahead — by The Bodley Head.

• Times Literary Supplement
  : ‘Almost too ingenious ... very clearly and brightly told.’
  

2.
The Murder on the Links
(1923)

“For God’s sake, come!” But by the time Hercule Poirot can respond to Monsieur Renauld’s plea, the millionaire is already dead — stabbed in the back, and lying in a freshly dug grave on the golf course adjoining his estate. There is no lack of suspects: his wife, whose dagger did the deed; his embittered son; Renauld’s mistress — and each feels deserving of the dead man’s fortune. The police think they’ve found the culprit. Poirot has his doubts. And the discovery of a second, identically murdered corpse complicates matters considerably. (However, on a bright note, Captain Arthur Hastings
does
meet his future wife.)

• The New York Times
  : ‘A remarkably good detective story ... warmly recommended.’
  
• Literary Review
  : ‘Really clever.’
  
• Sketch
  : ‘Agatha Christie never lets you down.’
  

3.
Poirot Investigates
(1924)

A movie star, a diamond; a murderous ‘suicide’; a pharaoh’s curse upon his tomb; a prime minister abducted...What links these fascinating cases? The brilliant deductive powers of Hercule Poirot in... ‘The Adventure of the Western Star’; ‘The Tragedy at Marsdon Manor’; ‘The Adventure of the Cheap Flat’; ‘The Mystery of the Hunter’s Lodge’; ‘The Million Dollar Bond Robbery’; ‘The Adventure of the Egyptian Tomb’; ‘The Jewel Robbery at the Grand Metropolitan’; ‘The Kidnapped Prime Minister’; ‘The Disappearance of Mr. Davenheim’; ‘The Adventure of the Italian Nobleman’; ‘The Case of the Missing Will.’

Of note: The stories collected here were first published in
Sketch
, beginning on March 7, 1923.
Sketch
also featured the first illustration of the foppish, egg-headed, elaborately moustachioed Belgian detective.

• Literary Review
  : ‘A capital collection ... ingeniously constructed and told with an engaging lightness of style.’
  
• Irish Times
  : ‘In straight detective fiction there is still no one to touch [Christie].’
  

4.
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
(1926)

In the quiet village of King’s Abbot a widow’s suicide has stirred suspicion — and dreadful gossip. There are rumours that she murdered her first husband, that she was being blackmailed, and that her secret lover was Roger Ackroyd. Then, on the verge of discovering the blackmailer’s identity, Ackroyd himself is murdered. Hercule Poirot, who has settled in King’s Abbot for some peace and quiet and a little gardening, finds himself at the centre of the case — and up against a diabolically clever and devious killer.

Of note:
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
broke all the rules of detective fiction and made Agatha Christie a household name. Widely regarded as her masterpiece (though perhaps it may be called her ‘Poirot masterpiece’ since other titles in her canon — notably
And Then There Were None
— are similarly acclaimed),
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
was the source of some controversy when it was published. The
Times Literary Supplement
’s praise of the first Poirot,
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
, ‘almost too ingenious,’ was applied by scores of readers to
Ackroyd
, who were nonetheless enraptured by the novel, and have remained so over the decades.

Fair warning:
There are two things you must do if you know nothing of the book: discuss it with no one, and read it with all speed.

• H.R.F. Keating: ‘One of the landmarks of detective literature’ (in his
  Crime & Mystery: The 100 Best Books
  ).
  
• Julian Symons: ‘The most brilliant of deceptions’ (in his
  Bloody Murder: From the Detective Story to the Crime Novel
  ).
  
• Irish Independent
  : ‘A classic — the book has worthily earned its fame.’
  

5.
The Big Four
(1927)

Hercule Poirot is preparing for a voyage to South America. Looming in the doorway of his bedroom is an uninvited guest, coated from head to foot in dust and mud. The man’s gaunt face registers Poirot for a moment, and then he collapses. The stranger recovers long enough to identify Poirot by name and madly and repeatedly scribble the figure ‘4’ on a piece of paper. Poirot cancels his trip. An investigation is in order. Fortunately, Poirot has the faithful Captain Hastings at his side as he plunges into a conspiracy of international scope — one that would consolidate power in the deadly cabal known as ‘The Big Four.’

6.
The Mystery of the Blue Train
(1928)

Le Train Bleu is an elegant, leisurely means of travel, and one certainly free of intrigue. Hercule Poirot is aboard, bound for the Riviera. And so is Ruth Kettering, the American heiress. Bailing out of a doomed marriage, she is en route to reconcile with her former lover. But her private affairs are made quite public when she is found murdered in her luxury compartment — bludgeoned almost beyond recognition. Fans of the later novel
Murder on the Orient Express
will not want to miss
this
journey by rail — and Poirot’s eerie reenactment of the crime...

7.
Black Coffee
(1930; 1998)

Sir Claud Amory’s formula for a powerful new explosive has been stolen, presumably by a member of his large household. Sir Claud assembles his suspects in the library and locks the door, instructing them that the when the lights go out, the formula must be replaced on the table — and no questions will be asked. But when the lights come on, Sir Claud is dead. Now Hercule Poirot, assisted by Captain Hastings and Inspector Japp, must unravel a tangle of family feuds, old flames, and suspicious foreigners to find the killer and prevent a global catastrophe.

Of note:
Black Coffee
was Agatha Christie’s first playscript, written in 1929. It premiered in 1930 at the Embassy Theatre in Swiss Cottage, London, before transferring the following year to St Martin’s in the West End — a theatre made famous by virtue of its becoming the permanent home of the longest-running play in history, Agatha Christie’s
The Mousetrap
. Agatha Christie’s biographer, Charles Osborne, who, as a young actor in 1956 had played Dr Carelli in a Tunbridge Wells production of
Black Coffee
, adapted the play as this novel in 1998.

• Antonia Fraser,
  Sunday Telegraph
  : ‘A lively and light-hearted read which will give pleasure to all those who have long wished that there was just one more Christie to devour.’
  
• Mathew Prichard, from his Foreword to
  Black Coffee
  : ‘This Hercule Poirot murder mystery ... reads like authentic, vintage Christie. I feel sure Agatha would be proud to have written it.’
  

8.
Peril at End House
(1932)

Nick is an unusual name for a pretty young woman. And Nick Buckley has been leading an unusual life of late. First, on a treacherous Cornish hillside, the brakes on her car fail. Then, on a coastal path, a falling boulder misses her by inches. Safe in bed, she is almost crushed by a painting. Upon discovering a bullet hole in Nick’s sun hat, Hercule Poirot (who had come to Cornwall for a simple holiday with his friend Captain Hastings) decides that the girl needs his protection. At the same time, he begins to unravel the mystery of a murder that hasn’t been committed. Yet.

• Times Literary Supplement
  : ‘Ingenious.’
  

9.
Lord Edgware Dies
(1933)

Poirot was present when the beautiful actress Jane Wilkinson bragged of her plan to ‘get rid of ’ her estranged husband. Now the monstrous man is dead. But how could Jane have stabbed Lord Edgware in his library at exactly the time she was dining with friends? And what could have been her motive, since Edgware had finally granted her a divorce? The great Belgian detective, aided by Captain Hastings, can’t help feeling that some kind of heinous stagecraft is in play. And does more murder wait in the wings?

• The New York Times
  : ‘A most ingenious crime puzzle.’
  
• Times Literary Supplement
  : ‘The whole case is a triumph of Poirot’s special qualities.’
  
• Noted crime fiction critic Julian Symons selected
  Lord Edgware Dies
  as one of Agatha Christie’s best.
  

10.
Murder on the Orient Express
(1934)

Just after midnight, a snowstorm stops the Orient Express dead in its tracks in the middle of Yugoslavia. The luxurious train is surprisingly full for this time of year. But by morning there is one passenger less. A ‘respectable American gentleman’ lies dead in his compartment, stabbed a dozen times, his door locked from the inside... Hercule Poirot is also aboard, having arrived in the nick of time to claim a second-class compartment — and the most astounding case of his illustrious career.

Regarding chronology: Agatha Christie seems not much concerned in the course of her books with their relationship to each other. It is why the Marples and the Poirots may be ready in any order, really, with pleasure. However, the dedicated Poirotist may wish to note that the great detective is returning from ‘A little affair in Syria’ at the start of
Murder on the Orient Express
. It is a piece of business after this ‘little affair’ — the investigation into the death of an archaeologist’s wife — that is the subject of
Murder in Mesopotamia
(1936). If one wishes to delay a tad longer the pleasures of
Orient Express
,
Murder in Mesopotamia
offers no better opportunity.

Fair warning:
Along these lines, it is advisable that one
not
read
Cards on the Table
(1936) prior to
Orient Express
, since Poirot
himself
casually gives away the ending to the latter novel.

Of note:
Murder on the Orient Express
is one of Agatha Christie’s most famous novels, owing no doubt to a combination of its romantic setting and the ingeniousness of its plot; its non-exploitative reference to the sensational kidnapping and murder of the infant son of Charles and Anne Morrow Lindbergh only two years prior; and a popular 1974 film adaptation, starring Albert Finney as Poirot — one of the few cinematic versions of a Christie work that met with the approval, however mild, of the author herself.

• Dorothy L. Sayers,
  Sunday Times
  : ‘A murder mystery conceived and carried out on the finest classical lines.’
  
• Saturday Review of Literature
  : ‘Hard to surpass.’
  
• Times Literary Supplement
  : ‘Need it be said — the little grey cells solve once more the seemingly insoluble. Mrs Christie makes an improbable tale very real, and keeps her readers enthralled and guessing to the end.’
  

11.
Three-Act Tragedy
(1935)

The novel opens as a theatre programme, with this telling credit: ‘
Illumination by
HERCULE POIROT.’ Light must be shed, indeed, on the fateful dinner party staged by the famous actor Sir Charles Cartwright for thirteen guests. It will be a particularly unlucky evening for the mild-mannered Reverend Stephen Babbington, whose martini glass, sent for chemical analysis after he chokes on its contents and dies, reveals no trace of poison. Just as there is no apparent motive for his murder. The first scene in a succession of carefully staged killings, but who is the director?

• The New York Times
  : ‘Makes for uncommonly good reading.’
  

12.
Death in the Clouds
(1935)

From seat No. 9, Hercule Poirot is almost ideally placed to observe his fellow air travelers on this short flight from Paris to London. Over to his right sits a pretty young woman, clearly infatuated with the man opposite. Ahead, in seat No. 13, is the Countess of Horbury, horribly addicted to cocaine and not doing too good a job of concealing it. Across the gangway in seat No. 8, a writer of detective fiction is being troubled by an aggressive wasp. Yes, Poirot is
almost
ideally placed to take it all in — except that the passenger in the seat directly behind him has slumped over in the course of the flight... dead. Murdered. By someone in Poirot’s immediate proximity. And Poirot himself must number among the suspects.

• Times Literary Supplement
  : ‘It will be a very acute reader who does not receive a complete surprise at the end.’